GLOW: The Story of the Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling

Pia Zadora ruins everything.

When alums from TV’s Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling
reunite in a Vegas hotel more than 20 years after their show was
canceled, three show up in wheelchairs. A few of the ambulatory ones
boast torn ACLs or serious wrist injuries. But in the interviews that
guide the narrative of Brett Whitcomb’s documentary, their memories are
fond—and, unexpectedly, free from much sense of exploitation.

When show creator David McLane launched GLOW
in 1986, his motivation did seem to be a lifelong love of wrestling and
a genuine desire to bring a greater audience to women in the ring. The
show’s director, Matt Cimber, is described as having a strong comedic
sense. One wrestler explains the conflict: “David wanted to combine the
glamor and the grit. Matt’s idea was to make it campy and silly.” This
resulted in a women’s wrestling show where the requisite trash-talking
is edged out by sketch comedy, in-program infomercials and
tongue-in-cheek “behind the scenes” footage.

GLOW’s
intended demographic was consistent with that of its male counterpart:
Aimed at children, it proved more than palatable to frat boys with
hangovers. The athletes had quite the aesthetic range: Some resembled
aerobics instructors and others gave off a heavyweight flamboyance—like
Mt. Fiji, a Samoan shot putter who had qualified for the 1980 Olympics.
Yet GLOW was originally cast through an open call for actresses
in Los Angeles, none of whom was warned about the physically damaging
project. Those who made it through screen tests were coached by Mondo
Guerrero, an imposing member of a wrestling family dynasty. He was
rumored to have once choke-held an actress into submission during
rehearsal.

Even after a successful four-season run and an energized tour of the era’s talk-show circuit, GLOW was
canceled when primary financial backer Meshulam Riklis pulled his
funding (as the result of a rumored ultimatum from his then-wife, Pia
Zadora).

But
there’s little focus on the show’s end. Between warm but blunt
recollections from cast and crew, and bountiful clips of in-ring antics,
the film proves nearly as authentic as the show that produced it, which
wrestler MTV describes as Daniel Day-Lewis-like: “We had to call each
other by our character names.”